A Ghost of a Confession
by Gewher
Summary: Jesse feels the need for some spiritual guidance, and a bit of a confession. But what is it exactly that he's confessing? And why is Father D so apprehensive about it? They didn't... Did they? CANCELED OR UP FOR ADOPTION
1. capítulo uno

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_Hi, I'm HB. You can call me that or Gewher. I'm not exactly new to the world of fanfiction, but I'm new to the Mediator. In fact, I just finished book 6 two days ago, but I love it so much that I just have to write a fic about it. So I'm doing it. I'm excited and proud of it so far. So give me a little input palios, and I'll make it worth your time. _

_Oh. Right. I don't own Jesse. I wish I did. But I don't. Oh, and I don't own Suze, or Father D. or any of the other characters pertaining to The Mediator Series. These all belong to Meg Cabot. Along with pretty much everything but my own little plot. And the word Tintinnabulation. Which happens to be the best word in the freaking dictionary. (Actually, I don't own that either. But this is irrelevant.)  
_

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It was a beautiful lazy Monday afternoon. The sun was shining. The palm trees swaying. The birds twittering about the statue of Junipero Serra. But the young man striding purposefully towards the big oak doors of the Mission Church had a lot more on his mind then the sun-drunk scenery of Carmel-by-the-Sea. The doors closed with a dull boom behind him, thudding loudly. Like his heart. He was enveloped in darkness, waiting for his eyes to adjust.

Sharp clicking footsteps echoed through the acoustical high ceiling of the cathedral. It was funny how much he revelled in the small things. Like footsteps. He hadn't had those in 150 years, funny what you don't realize your missing when you go so long without it.

Like love. 150 years alone. 150 years of not realizing how empty life is until she comes along. It's like suddenly you realize you've been in pain all this time and she's taken it away, making you feel more whole than you've ever been; even when you'd been alive. Okay so the situation didn't apply to many people, seeing as it's not often a ghost and a human have a love affair, but that was what it was like being with Susannah Simon. And then she'd saved him, given him more than he could ever give her back. She made him able to revel in his loud footsteps.

Along with his echoing footfalls, he also enjoyed other feelings of the senses that being alive had to offer. Like the way the church felt so cool, dark and humid as compared to the bright outdoor sunshine which had warmed his back seconds ago and had highlighted the honey-brown tones in his almost black hair. Like the way he could smell the mustiness of the Junipero Serra's Mission Cathedral, feel the porous red rock walls locking out the heat and light. Like the way he could really _see_ the shifting planes of sunlight dancing on the motes of dust, colouring them in hues of blue, yellow, red. As a ghost, nothing is solid, he could see but not _see._ Nothing was real to him then, insubstantial and incorporeal. When you can phase through things, they kind of lose their touch. _Except Susannah. _He reminded himself, a small crooked smile playing on his lips. But even she was more real to him now than ever before, back when he was a ghost. And that's why he was here.

He slowly sank to one knee, genuflecting reverently towards the glowing red light reflected in the golden tabernacle. Just like a good Spanish-Catholic gentleman from the mid-nineteenth century should. He gritted his teeth and steeled himself for what he needed to do. Rising, he took the few steps towards the back right of the alter, shooting one pleading glance at the face of Christ hanging resolutely on His cross at the front of the church.

_ He's a man, you're a man, you'll both understand, si?_ Jesse de Silva asked the Lord silently. He raised a tanned hand, balled into a fist, and knocked on the door tothe vestibule. The sound reverberated through the cathedral seeming to condemn him. _Sinner, sinner, sinner. Bad, bad, bad..._ It said to him. _Nombre de dios, guilty conscience much? _He thought, shaking his head.

Jesse grimaced as he heard Father Dom's tentative "Who is it?" and cleared his throat.

"Father? It's me, Jesse, I, uh, need to talk to you." He leaned against the door frame, muscles tense, rubbing his hands together nervously.

"Heaven's sake Jesse, come in! What's wrong? Is Suze--" Father D said sensing the distress in the former rancher's voice.

"No," Jesse cut him off, "Susannah is fine, it's sort of about her though." He finished, opening the door with a sonorous creak and boom. Father Dom ushered him in with a swish of his cassock, to a couple chairs kept there for confession. Jesse sat down, thinking it fitting, seeing as he had a few things to confess.

"I was just cleaning the vessels. Helps to clear the mind sometimes." Father pointed to the golden chalice, paten and ciborium used for the communion offering. Jesse nodded.

"Yes, Sister Ernestine told me this is where you would be." He said, staring at the tarnished gold thoughtfully.

"So what is it Jesse? Has something happened?" Father D asked nervously, hoping this wasn't going to get really uncomfortable.

"Well, uh," Jesse started awkwardly, his dark chocolate eyes not meeting his confessor's blue ones. "The other night..." Father D braced himself, screwing his eyes shut and sending out a short prayer that this wasn't turning towards what he thought it was.

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**Jesse's Vantage Point**

Saturday. Date night. Which no longer meant sitting and watching movies in Susannah's bedroom. No, now it meant I could take her out to dinner, go to a theme park, the arcade, the Coffee Clutch, or a movie... Okay, so what's so different about going out to a movie than staying in her bedroom and watching one? Well, her parents and stepbrothers weren't downstairs for one. It's also more official, like we're actually out together, and people can see us holding hands. Not just Susannah, sitting by herself in her bedroom and talking to herself. It's real to everyone, not just us. So tonight, it was dinner and a movie. A classic I don't think I'll ever tire of.

Dinner had consisted of smoked Muscovy duck for me, and Arctic char for her. I couldn't help splurge on her sometimes. Though it peeved her to no end that I wouldn't let her see the menus when we went out. Especially when sometimes, at the really fancy restaurants, they had 'Ladies Menus', basically listing everything but omitting the prices. Very much my style. Not so much hers.

"I can handle my own menu thanks-very-much, and I'd like to know the prices before you go all out, Jesse." She warned me again. But this was one thing I wouldn't back down on.

"Just, sit and look pretty--" I would start, teasing her.

"Like a young lady should." She'd finish sarcastically.

"I believe that even in this time, Susannah, the man will buy for the woman when out on a date." I'd say tiredly, and she'd glare at me, knowing I was right. Then she'd pull the "I'll just have a small salad please" trick and I'd have to order for her. Then she'd roll her eyes because I'd know exactly what she really wanted. We'd talk, laughing and smiling and arguing and debating. She'd tell me more about living in the 21st century, and I'd tell her more about the 19th. Only on this date she pulled something new.

"What are you doing Susannah?" I asked, tensing up as she did it again. She grinned wickedly.

"It's called footsies." She said, leaning over the table and whispering conspiratorially, "It's a, sort of a game, that 21st century couples play, under tables. With our feet." I gave her a quizzical look but decided to play along. I figured it was pretty harmless actually, but still special, like holding hands. We continued eating and

chatting, every once and a while playing the strange game of footsies. Giving each other secret smiles every time our legs touched. I wonder if she knows how alluring her smile is; how it makes my blood pump faster and heat flood my stomach. Then suddenly all thought stopped. She had taken her shoe off and slid her bare foot further up my leg, touching my inner thigh, just above my knee. My skin burned where she touched me, right through the pair of dark jeans I was wearing.

"_Querida_." I warned, and she just smiled innocently and batted her eyelashes at me. "Please."

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**Suze's Vantage Point**

He could always kill me with one little word. I try to be mischievous, I really do. But as soon as he says that word with his smooth velvety voice and looks at me with those deep almost-black eyes, an expression of consternation evident on those pouty sexy lips. I'm done for. I just have to fold, because there's no way I can hold my own against that. So I just gave him the Bambi eyes and slipped my foot back into my red Madden Girl pumps. No more footsies for me. Bad, bad Suze. I huffed. He raised the eyebrow with the dog-bite scar in it. I wanted to reach over and touch the little white line and tell him I'm sorry and I won't do it again. But I probably will. And he can always tell when I'm lying. So I tried a staring contest instead. Okay, so only slightly childish, but it works to change the subject, right?

"Ha, you blinked." I said sheepishly. Jesse rolled his eyes and I knew he wasn't mad at me for my foot incident, only frustrated with himself. Which made me feel guilty. Ugh.

"Oh, _Querida_." He sighed adoringly, making me feel so special and cherished and loved. Because that was my word, and the way he said it was only for me.

"So you guys want your room, I mean, bill." The waitress suddenly said, right at our side. I hadn't noticed her walk up. Jesse's eyebrows flew up and knit together. So I guessed he hadn't missed the _um-bitch-much?_ in her tone. I didn't think he knew what 'Get a Room' meant though.

"Yes miss, I would be very grateful if you could bring us the bill, but before you go I would like to ask you something." Jesse said tightly. The waitress sniffed, but I could see glint in her eye as she looked from him to me, then back to him, up and down. Red-hot jealousy boiled up inside me. Don't even think it you stupid floozy, this is my man. I clenched my teeth.

"What." Waitress-from-hell asked Jesse, feigning boredom.

"Do you always assume that a couple out for a romantic dinner have as lax a sense of morality as you yourself do? And do you usually rudely imply assumptions that are none of your business on unsuspecting and paying customers?" Jesse asked, an edge of steel in his voice. Whoa, boy! I guess he is hip with the mod lingo. My eyes were wide I kicked him under the table.

"Jesse." I hissed and he gave me a look that said 'sit and look pretty.' I bit my tongue to keep my comeback in. I snuck a glance at the rude server, I could see she was even more taken aback at Jesse's calm accusation than I was. But that might have been because she didn't know he was raised in the 1800s, back when any sexual activity outside of wedlock was strictly forbidden and extremely taboo.

"Whatever." She managed to glare out from beneath her fringe of bleach blonde bangs.

"You can also tell your manager my lady friend and I are quite affronted by your lack of manners." Jesse added, and only now could I detect a twinge of humour in his tone. She gave a snort and walked away.

"Jesse! You did not just tell her off without her even knowing it!" I said with admiration. "Not one curse either." I whistled. "You have many talents my friend. This is why I love you."

"That's the only reason?" He asked in mock hurt. "My heart is breaking _Querida_." He clutched at his chiselled, toned, hard chest. Mmm, a chest only separated fromme by a tight black dress shirt, tempting me with three buttons undone. So his style was slightly Jersey, but seeing as it was influenced by the 1800s, that wasn't surprising. Besides, he could pull it off. Actually, he could pull off anything, with a face that gorgeous and a body like that.

"Well, there are a few other reasons." I teased, and he smiled sensually. Actually, he just smiled, but it always looks sensual when he does.

"Like...?" He continued. Ah! He was not getting me that easily.

"I might tell you some day. But for now, I think you better go and get that bill, because--" I glanced at my beautiful, delicate silver watch, the one Jesse had given me, "--the movie starts in 15 and I have a feeling that waitress is not coming back. Or I could go get it if you want?" I threatened emptily, knowing I would not get within six feet of the check. He gave me one of those looks. The ones that say 'Suze, I am not giving into your gender-equality demands', or at least that's how I interpret them. Except for, he never says my nickname, it's always just Susannah. And he's the only one who can get away with it permanently. Kind of like my mom is the only one who can call me Susie. Because when my name passes his lips, it sounds like ten times better than when anyone else says it. He sighed and got up effortlessly. I couldn't help but stare as his corded muscles, built up from years of working on his father's ranch, and kept up by his regular horseback riding (which I refuse to join him on) and odd construction jobs for my stepdad. Yep. He worked part time for Andy Ackerman, my mother's new husband of a year. Which was awkward, but Jesse needed the money for med school. Which let me tell you is not cheep. I know because I've researched it, and I've been raising a secret stash on the side to help him out. I know, I know, what kind of self-respecting woman puts her boyfriend through school? But it's just that, well, I love him, and seeing as my career is already planned for me, I may as well help him achieve his. How very selfless of me, isn't it? Pff, not really, seeing as my only dream is to be with Jesse. And I don't need some fancy collage degree to know how to love him. Besides, I'm a bit of a philanthropist. Albeit a secretive, and slightly monetarily deprived one. And I don't help _people_, per se. But whatever.

Jesse held his hand out to help me from the booth. I'd usually contest this, saying I didn't need help, but these heels were new, and high. So I did need help. He also opened the door for me, after we'd paid—well, _he'd_ paid—and said, of all things, "Ladies first." I snorted loudly at that.

"That reminds me, since when am I your, quote-unquote, _lady friend?_" I asked, rushing to the driver door of the Rover before he could protest. He sighed heavily again.

"You're much to sophisticated for the word 'girl', Susannah." I narrowed my eyes, mulling that over, wondering what he was implying there. But all I said was:

"Hmph."

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_Oookay. So tell me how you liked it so far. Not sure how long this is going to go on but we're good for a couple more chapters at least. Oh tell me how you like the format as well, too many points of view? Too much switching from past to present tense? Double spacing? Tabbing? I'll fix it if I can!  
_


	2. capítulo dos

_Okay Cowboys. A second Chapter. And so quick! This started out as humor. But all the sudden it turned the other way. Ah, yes. Rated for hardcore making out, a bit of language, and severe self-whumping angst courtesy of our favorite 150-year-old sexy ranchero man._

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**Jesse's Vantage Point**

She looked so adorable. One eyebrow up, brown waves of hair all in her face. It was stuck to her lipgloss again, like it always does. So I reached over and brushed it out of her face. She rolled her eyes at me and smiled, slipping the key in the ignition. I wondered how much bribing she'd had to do for Brad to allow her to snag the Land Rover. I need to get a car. It annoys me to no end that she has to drive me everywhere. She loves it however, which only makes it worse. My eyes trailed over her outfit. A black and white strapless tea dress, and of course those ridiculous red high heels. I wondered if she knew how tempting her collarbone looked, cast in relief by street lamps and the headlights of the few cars that passed us on our way to the movie theatre.

"You're quiet all the sudden." She said, softly, delicately. There was no sarcasm in her tone, she was just stating a fact.

"Just, just thinking, _Querida_." I said, reaching over once again to brush my hand across her cheek.

"Anything exciting going on up there." She smiled, gesturing to my head. I grinned softly back.

"Nothing you'd be interested in." I implied as we parked close to the theatre building.

"Ah, so Practical Theory Since Plato then." She sighed knowingly, bobbing her head slightly. "Ah how you bore me so, my love." She put her head back and closed her eyes, pretending to snore. I pulled her towards me. She didn't open her eyes.

"Let me show you something more exciting then." I placed my lips on hers and she responded immediately. Fire burned throughout my limbs and in the pit of my stomach as we deepened the kiss. I gently licked her lower lip and she moaned into me. I smiled, pulling her over the the gear shift and into my lap. She fit there perfectly. I lifted her up, hands on her waist, and she wrapped her legs around me. Her dress was hiked up much too high. I couldn't see it, but I could feel her bare thighs against the thin cotton of my shirt. I had no control. My hands started exploring the nape of her neck, her upper back, lower, the small of her back, her waist, her ribs. I stopped myself, returning to her waist. My lips had a mind of their own however, and all I could think of was the soft curves of her delicate collarbone. The supple tendons of her neck. I trailed kisses down her jaw. Her neck. I groaned lightly as she did an exploration of her own. Placing her hands on my stomach, up to my chest, rubbing in quick circles up to my shoulders, my back. Finally tangling her fingers in my hair and kissing my neck, behind my ear. I shuddered, with, what I can only explain as pleasure, but it was much much more than that. I loved her. My Susannah. My _Querida_. I wanted every bit of her, to bottle her like ambrosia.

My blood stopped cold. Without realizing it, she'd unbuttoned my shirt. Her hands were underneath it, slowly but inexorably pulling it down over my shoulders. Without realizing it, I'd unzipped the back of her dress. My fingers fumbling down to the clasp on her bra. I panicked, pushing her off of me. She tumbled out of my lap. Her expression hurt and frustrated. I closed my eyes, brows knitting together as I buttoned up my shirt.

"Susannah, I'm--"

"No, Jesse, you don't need to apologize. I wanted that. You know I'm okay with that. More than okay. You're so frustrating." The steel in her voice slowly melted to exasperation.

I gave her a long-suffering look, suddenly furious, though at what, I wasn't sure. "_Querida_, you know why we can't. I'm not rejecting you. You, Susannah, are the only one I could spend my entire life with. You know this. You know I love you." I started.

"Why do I feel a but coming along?" She said, suddenly defensive at my tone. I averted my eyes as she zipped her dress back up.

"Because there is one, _Querida_. Outside of wedlock it's not proper to have physical relations. I have to apologize for taking advantage of the situation and defiling your virtue. It's not mine to take." I repeated to her. Knowing she was annoyed once more at my old fashioned ways. But I just couldn't let go of everything I'd be brought up to believe. Guilt was seeping through me, saturating my conscience. What had I _done_? Until we were married, which may or may not be in the near future, a hands off policy was in order. She groaned at me and rolled her eyes.

"Oh, Jesse," She puffed angrily. I met her eyes. "But it is yours. All of it. All of me." I gave her a pained look.

"Not yet, Susannah! _Not yet!_" I cried out, raising my voice at her for the first time ever. My frustration simmered like an active volcano and I took it out on her. I couldn't stand it. My own weakness, her willingness to sink into sin. It was all too much.

"I can't do this Susannah. I can't do any of it." I raked my hands through my black hair, noticing dispassionately that it was getting longer, something that it hadn't done in 150 years. I caught her look.

"What do you mean Jesse?" Her voice squeaked an octave higher. "Are you, are you..."

"Will you drive me home please, Susannah." I said, trying not to let the heat of my anger, more at myself than at her, colour my tone. It came out sounding cold. It couldn't be helped. I saw the flash of pain and confusion on her face. She just... Didn't realize! I was being sorely tempted. I knew she meant well, but it just wasn't working. I couldn't control myself when I kissed her. The flash of pain I saw cross her face was unbearable. I couldn't stand it. It was worse than anything. I was hurting her. I loved her but I was hurting her. It was almost more than I could take. I almost got down and begged her to forgive me, tell her that it was alright and I would give in. But it wasn't alright. Not one bit. Because I was shaking from head to toe with the stir of mixed emotions in my head. I was fighting with her. I was fighting with my Susannah. My _Querida_. It was the worst experience of my life.

I tried to reach out to her as the SUV pulled in front of my tiny apartment building. But she shook her head, and I dropped my hand to my side. We didn't say a word in parting.

That night was the worst night I've ever had. I couldn't shut my eyes, mulling over how a simple date could have gone so wrong. I slept in fits and starts, waking cold and sweating, my sheets twisted and my heart pounding. A fearful shout locked in the back of my throat. I couldn't remember exactly what my nightmares were about. But I knew that in all of them I lost my Susannah. I don't really remember how I passed the long hours of the night. I knew I cried a little. I knew I stared blankly at the ceiling for a long time. But mostly I thought. Of how stupid I'd been. Of that look of pain on her face. Like I'd slapped her. I'd never lay a hand on her. Except somehow this had seemed so much worse.

I hated myself. Why couldn't I have just given her what she wanted? Or at least just brush it off again. But it was building up inside. All those times I'd slipped up, and unto shaky ground. It was clear I couldn't keep a handle on myself. Clear that I couldn't keep my emotions, and worse, my hormones, bottled up. I'd failed. Both myself and her. I didn't deserve her. She was too good, too strong, too brave and too, ugh, _Susannah. _

The next day was just as bad. I put off getting out of bed, even if I couldn't sleep anyway. I skipped mass, feeling too dirty to show my face in the house of God. I even skipped work. A talk at the Historical Society. I didn't even bother to call in sick. Didn't even bother to answer when they called me. I just couldn't care about things so menial. I'd hurt my Susannah, that was all that mattered. I was worthless.

I was so confused. There was no ups or downs. I couldn't tell right from wrong. One moment I'd be absolutely, 100 positive I'd done the right thing by finally bringing the issue out into the open. The next I was so unsure that I'd start shaking all over again. I punished myself by not eating and forcing myself to sit through three hours of game shows. I don't even know which ones. I just stared blankly at the screen, thinking of my ignominy. I realized at one point I had been banging my head on the wall, staring at the ceiling of my bedroom, for nearly an hour. Only becoming aware of the fact when the headache started. But I deserved it. So I continued for another hour.

When I finally decided to eat it was the most bland thing I could find. Plain oatmeal. It burned my tongue on the way down, searing my throat and making me choke back in pain. I cried again. But not from the physical sort of pain.

I settled down early for another sleepless night, not bothering to change out of the t-shirt and boxers I'd been wearing since the night before. I was a trainwreck. I needed to talk to Father Dominic. I'd do it first thing in the morning.

The next night was as bad as the last. Each time I'd fall asleep, I'd jerk awake. Palpitations in my chest making me cough and wheeze. I was a mess. Worse. _Nombre de Dios!_ I was a less than a worm. I felt abandoned and alone, and I wondered where the hell God had gone and left me in this mess. I tried to do the right thing. But maybe it was too late for me. Maybe I wasn't good enough to forgive. Maybe I'd had my chance to be with Susannah and blew it. My breath sucked in at this thought. I shuddered violently. My whole body trembled and my muscles twitched from exhaustion. I could barely breathe. My air was cut off by an unseen force.

I wasn't supposed to live. Not again. I was supposed to have stayed a ghost. I wasn't good enough for this world. I should have died and stayed dead, all back in the 1850s. I was being punished for this irreverent and unnatural twist of fate.

I needed to talk to Father Dominic.

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_Not depressing at all eh? Yeah. He sure did beat himself up over everything. It hurt doing this to him. It really did. But it needed to be done. Because honestly, the first draft of this chapter, all humourous and shit, well, it sucked more than a Hoover. Hope you enjoy this draft though. Review!_


	3. capítulo tres

Oh, god! I am soooo sorry! Life has been unforeseeably hectic. Like CRAZY! I haven't had the time to write anything lately and it's been driving me nuts! So finally I was able to write a slightly shorter chapter and get it up here. Thank god. I have a little of the next chapter done as well, and hopefully I'll have that up before the weekend. Then my life gets busy again, so I'll try to write a bit more to keep you guys satiated. Thanks for all the reviews so far, especially my most faithful reviewer, who has gone through stages of killing both me and herself. Yes, none other than Pandabear123 who has been my constant inspiration and support. I love you. I really do.

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**Jesse's Vantage Point**

I woke up. Surprising myself when I realized that I'd been stuck in a black, dreamless sleep for nearly 8 hours. It was almost noon. And surprising myself even more when I realized I was no longer in a self-hating daze. Now I was just resolved. Not quite happy, but almost hopeful. I flipped out of bed too quickly, the blood rushing to my head. I'd forgotten that I had blood now. I stumbled to the bathroom and took a quick look at myself in the mirror. _Nombre de Dios,_ I looked like hell.

After showering and changing into jeans and a tee shirt, I shoved a granola bar down my throat and was out the door. The elderly Hispanic lady who lived down the hall from me waved and smiled at me as I descended the stairs two by two. I gave her a small nod in return, not sure if I could make my lips smile yet. The walk to the Rectory usually took 15 minutes if I was fast. But even though this time I was almost running, it seemed to take hours. I was out of breath when I finally knocked on the door. Panting and holding myself up with my hands on my knees. I was not expecting Sister Ernestine to open the door. A rush of cool air escaped, it felt wonderful in comparison to the hot summer afternoon.

"Hello, Sister. I was wondering if I may possibly have a word with Father Dominic." I asked, still slightly breathless. She looked me over in distaste, raising her nose and narrowing her beady eyes.

"You're that boy Susannah Simon is wrapped up in, aren't you?" She asked, scrunching up her plump nose. It was hard not to dislike Sister Ernestine, though it was wrong not to, her being consecrated to God.

"Yes, Sister, I am courting Miss Simon." I affirmed, though I wasn't sure where we stood after the other night...

"Hmpf." She sniffed. "Father Dominic is not here right now." I almost panicked at her words. Wanting to take her by the collar, lift her in the air and shake her, demanding to know his whereabouts. Instead I managed:

"Where is he then? It's urgent! I really must speak to him." She gave me an all-knowing look and crossed her arms.

"Got her pregnant then, did we?" She said quite snootily. "I knew that girl was no good, and any young man cau--" At first I flushed indignantly.

"Of course not. _Sister_. And my sins are not your business, they're between me, God, and my confessor. Now where is he?!" I tried not to, I really did. But my voice ended up getting louder with every word, until I was almost yelling at her. She glared evilly at me.

"Cathedral. Vestry." She said shortly, then slammed the door in my face. I jumped down the steps and viciously kicked a nearby rock into the garden. What an infuriating woman—nun. I started at a fast pace towards the Cathedral, but gradually slowed. Suddenly, I wasn't sure about this. I didn't really want to talk to Father Dominic. I was hesitant. Thoughts that were so unlike me crossed my mind. Why did I need to confess? It wasn't like it was a good time or anything. I could just call Susannah. Apologize. And then all would be well.

Who was I kidding? I needed to do this. I squared my shoulders and slowly walked up the church steps.

**Suze's Vantage Point**

I am not going to tell you how much yesterday sucked. Why? Because I don't think it will be productive. At all. Because I really don't think you actually want to know that I cried in my pillow all night, lied in bed all day. Bawled on the phone with CeeCee, and had my mother hugging me for almost an hour straight. Not to mention how weird Jake, Brad, and David were about it. Andy just made me chicken stuffed with brie and cranberry salsa, saying it always made him feel better when he was sick. It was sweet, but I don't really like cranberries. All I'm saying, is that it was the worst day of my life. I couldn't have been happier to wake up on Monday and have Black Sunday over with. Of course that was not to be. Why you ask? Well, I wasn't allowed to get to sleep, so therefore waking up wasn't an option.

"Whoa! Man. Weird!" I could tell from his voice that he wasn't from around here. I cracked an eye opened, vaguely interested to see a fellow New Yorker. Ugh. No way. There was no way I was dealing with a dead Yuppie in the middle of the night. I tried to go back to my moping, couldn't he have picked a better time? I should put out a notice, Sundays are a day of rest. No mediation services available. Actually while I'm at it, none between the hours of 5pm-9am. Of course, shepherding ghosts to the next world/life isn't exactly 9-5. It's more like 24/7.

"Yo, hey there? You alive?" Yeah. He had the audacity to poke me. I was lying in my bed minding my own business and _poked_ me.

"Why meee? And you're one to talk buddy." I groaned rather distastefully and he grinned rather stupidly, stroking his perfectly trimmed punk-band-esque scruff. Then of all things, he fixed his obviously artificially straightened hair in my mirror.

"You're the local Mediator, are you not?" He asked all business like, standing by my bed in his jeans and a blue sports jacket. And, I had to stare at this one for a while, because for all intensive purposes, it looked like a Man-Purse. I choked out a sadistic laugh.

"Is that a Murse?" I asked between hysterics. Whoops, here I go with the slap-happiness again. I took a few deep breaths, gasping.

"It's a messenger bag actually." He narrowed his eyes under square plastic glasses. "So aren't you supposed to make this all better?" I wasn't really in the mood for patience. I really wasn't. And really who could blame me?

"I can't make you come back to life, if that's what you mean—"

"But I wasn't supposed to die!" 1,2,3,4, breathe Suze, just breathe. You have no idea how old this gets. Really. I mean it was funny the first oh, say eighty times? But now it's just getting repetitive. He must of caught my sardonic look, because he took it further.

"No, really, I wasn't! It wasn't fair, and it was all her fault!" I decided to give him this one. Only because I didn't want to argue my point.

"Who? Who's fault is it? Your girlfriend?" I asked tiredly, already resigned to the fact that I was going to have to forget my own problems and help a fellow New Yorker out.

"No, my step mom! She convinced my dad that we had to take one last vacation to the west coast before I move to England. And then while we were on the yacht, and I was minding my own business inside with my laptop. She forced me to go outside. To get some sun. As if I can't tan if I want to. Really all she wanted to do was force me to take pictures of them, her and my dad, because I'm a graphic arts major. So she was like bitching about angles and stuff, trying to tell me how to do it. Like I don't know how or something. And then, out of nowhere, I back up right? And trip right over the edge, I'm pretty sure I hit my head on the way down because that is all I remember." He looked genuinely pissed off, not sad that he was dead and his dreams were going to waste or whatever, but just PO'ed that his step mother was so readily blameable.

"And how is that really her fault?" I asked tiredly, my eyes squinting up at him and wondering what the hell he thought of my sad state.

"She made me come, _and_ she made me go out on deck!" He was wringing his hands, genuinely annoyed that I didn't seem to understand, I was just surprised when he didn't end with a 'duh!'

"So she planned it all." I said, not even trying to hold back the sarcasm dripping from my voice.

"Uh, well, when you put it that way... But what is it that's holding me back then?!" He screamed, and I cringed. Okay so it wasn't his stepmom keeping him here, so what was it?

"Can we figure this out later uh..." I fished around for a name with my hand. He raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow at me.

"It's Jackson. Jackson Dax." And then he disappeared. Poof. I knew he'd be back though. But before that, sleep was in order. I tried to keep thinking of Jackson and his problem instead of my recent trouble with Jesse. Both cases would require a good long conversation with Father D. Ah, but first, sleep.


	4. capítulo quattro

Yeah, so... I know I deserve to die right? Right?? Yeah. Okay, that's better. It's about time you killed me for my stupidity. Gah! I don't know what's wrong with me. But whatever it is, it is stupid to the extreme. If you haven't figured it out yet, this is my apology, for the lack of updates, for the shortness of this one, for how fillerish it is, for my gosh darn idiocy! There. I'm done. Enjoy? Maybe? Even if you hate me...?

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**Suze's Vantage Point**

Don't get me wrong, I was still dying a little inside. But I surprised myself by waking up and not dissolving into a puddle of worthlessness. I could actually think coherently without sinking into useless thoughts of the other night. Thanks to Jackson Dax I could squeeze my Jesse problems into a small corner of my head and keep the rest of my mind clear. I knew how to help him... I didn't know how to help myself, so I forgot about my problems and focused on his. I knew what I needed to do. I needed to go—scratch that, first things first. I really needed a shower. When your own mother grimaces when she sees you, it's time to do a little clean up.

Ahhh, the beauties of modern technology. One shower, one blow dry styling, one make-up application, and one outfit (consisting of a black silk tee and jean shorts) later, and I was ready to go. I was going to go see Father Dominic. I couldn't help but think how lucky I was that I didn't have to work today. Seriously. I knew there was no way that I could babysit little kids in my mood right now. I mean, my heart was only slightly broken."Honey? Are you ready to come out of your room, Andy made eggs and bacon before he left. We saved you some." My mom is seriously great. She's busy, being a television reporter and all, yet she still finds time to make me feel better. I don't think I appreciate her enough some times.

"Yeah mom, I'm good. Eggs sound delicious." I replied and opened the door. She smiled, looking supremely relieved as I walked out not looking like a disaster. I felt guilty all the sudden, worrying my mom. She didn't deserve to be upset just because I was. So I hugged her mushily and gave her a quick 'I love you' before heading down the stairs. I tried not to think of what used to be my favourite moment of walking down these stairs... Tried not to think of my prom at all. Because what good would that do me?

"Are you going to be okay here all alone today? You can invite a friend over if you like." Mom said as she was about to go out the door to work. I smiled tentatively at her.

"Yeah mom, I'll be fine, I'm going to go see Father Dominic." She looked instantly relieved at my words, thinking I'm going to confession or something. I'm not Catholic like Andy and his three sons, but I'm probably the one who sees a priest the most. Mom thinks it's this that has turned my life around. She was always awkward around me in New York, wondering why I wasn't the social butterfly she had been in highschool. When we'd moved here to California, I'd become strangely popular all of the sudden. I knew she was pleased about that, but I don't think it was Father D.'s influence that had sparked my sudden extroversion. Actually, I have no idea what it was, but I digress.

A little less than twenty minutes later had me walking in the hot sun towards the promise of Mr. Dax's eternal R&R, or next life, or whatever. I was sweating by the time I got there, but hey! At least I had the brains to wear sensible footwear this on this trek. Shoot darn Suze. Don't remember, it just makes it worse remembering how good of a doctor he'd been during the blistered feet incident. Okay. Knock on the door. There now. That was easy. Breathe. Look at how pretty the flowers look right now, the gardener is doing a stellar job...

"You." Okay, not the welcome I was expecting. I turned around and spotted the generous bosomed nun who I'd come to dislike severely over the past year.

"Yes, Sister Ernestine. I was wondering if I could talk to Father Dominic, it's rather important." Control tone. Remain neutral.

"Hmph. Figures, your beau was here earlier, I knew it was only a matter of time before you'd need confession as well." She gave me the hairy eyeball. And I mean that literally. In the nicest possible way? It's unfortunate that nuns don't pluck their eyebrows. Really. Sister Ernestine could use it badly. Instead of being affronted by this insinuation, I was instead surprised. Because that meant Jesse was here, and it also meant he was probably talking to Father D. The way I saw it, I had three options. A: Go to Father D. and risk bumping into Jesse, B: Booting it back to the old house and forgetting about the whole thing, or C: Use my superior intellect, cunning, and spy skills to wait in the bushes until they are done and then go to Father D.

"Where are they?" I asked as sweetly as possible, and then added "sister" for posterity. She looked me over once, shook her head, and pointed towards the cathedral.

"Vestry. Last I knew." And the conversation was over, the door was closed, and I sneaked my way over to the bushes outside of the back door to the Junipero Serra Mission Church.

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Okay, I plead the fifth. I'm going to try though, really I am. I'm going to try to get back on the wagon. There. Also, I believe the rest of this story, up until the end that is, is going to be in Suze's point of view. So there we go.


End file.
